


did good

by seditonem



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Twice she and Monty played charades. It was severely limited, given that they only had such a small space to act it out through, but he managed to do such an accurate impression of Bellamy fuming that Clarke laughed until she cried, and then just cried, sliding down the door to curl into a heap on the floor."</p><p>set following the season 1 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	did good

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: written for less than honourable reasons, but not for money. 
> 
> personal note: big love to anyone who was cheerleading me or even put up with me during the writing of this dumb fic. you're fab. again i must mention [beth](sometimenever.tumblr.com), who put up with my many messages, complaints, comments and screams of 'sad trash prince'. sorry about that.

It was quiet in the room they kept her in. On the Ark, there was always some sort of sound, even if it was just the white noise of the machines in the ceiling above, and then out on Earth it was as if the very air breathed the sound of life all around them. The room, though, was like a void around her that made Clarke constantly reach out to touch things to reassure herself that she was still conscious. Counting the hours became difficult, and she gave up after three. She waited by the round window in the door, pressing her cheek to the plastic to try and see further down the corridor, but there was nothing. Her breath fogged up the view and she battled to keep her pulse steady. Starry Night blurred in her vision, pulsing with light and then still again.

 

Twice she and Monty played charades. It was severely limited, given that they only had such a small space to act it out through, but he managed to do such an accurate impression of Bellamy fuming that Clarke laughed until she cried, and then just cried, sliding down the door to curl into a heap on the floor.

 

She’d left him to die when she closed the door, him and Finn and all the other humans who had survived on Earth but come to burn so eagerly. What she wanted more than anything was for him to tell her she hadn’t fucked up again. Bellamy was her harshest critic, the one she could always rely on to pick up her flaws, and if he wasn’t there then how was she going to be able to tell when she was slipping off the rails?

 

She didn’t even want to think about Finn anymore. That part of her was bruised and sore, too tender to touch yet.

 

Time became a concept she lost touch with. Sometimes they dimmed the lights and she slipped into a feverish sleep, never comfortable, waking in damp sweats and screaming fits. They strapped her into a chair and took her blood, humans in plastic suits and masks who were so removed from her she couldn’t even hear their breathing. She didn’t bother to fight them; if she did they’d probably sedate her, and she wanted to be conscious. They took her for tests she didn’t understand, and at one point removed a tiny square of skin from her shoulder. The red patch left behind burnt white-hot until they applied a cream, and Clarke stared vacantly at the ceiling, wondering if they were going to start cutting her open soon.

 

They didn’t, simply returning her to her room, and she just shook her head when Monty banged on his window to try and get her to talk. She felt dizzy, propping herself up against the door, and was content just to simply look at him. He looked healthy, she thought, and smiled a little at that. Had they taken him for tests too? Did he have a square scar on his shoulder, like a brand?

 

Was there anyone else on the floor, like them? She’d walked past rooms before, but the suits on either side of her blocked her view into them, and no one ever stood by the windows.

 

Clarke saw movement out of the corner of her eye. There were two suits moving down the corridor, and someone in between them. They were half-dragging him, she realised – he was resisting a little, as if he could hardly be bothered to make more than a token effort. Even from a distance she knew that walk, knew the hard set of that jaw.

 

“Bellamy!” she screamed, the noise tearing out of her before she was even aware of opening her mouth. Her hands pounded the door, trying to get him to look at her. “Bellamy, I’m here!”

 

He saw her when he was almost out of sight, whole body stiffening like he’d been shocked by a current, and tried to twist around to move back to her. “Clarke, is that you?”

 

“Bellamy!” she shouted again, but he was out of sight, and pounding on the door made no difference.

 

But he was alive. He was alive, and that made all the difference.

 

* * *

 

The next time they came to her room, she was ready.

 

“I want to see Bellamy,” she said, calmly, and the suits stopped. And then they did something she didn’t expect – one of the suits removed its helmet, and the woman who revealed herself had dark eyes like black holes. Her hair was coiled into a thick braid that wound its way around her head, studded with many pins.

 

“Why do you want to see him?” she asked, in an accent that was unfamiliar, and Clarke’s mouth dried up completely. She coughed, choking on an inhalation that had come too quick, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

“I need to see him,” she corrected, and the woman’s mouth twisted into a strange approximation of amusement.

 

“You’ve never bothered to ask us anything before,” she noted. “You didn’t even ask my name, or why you’re here.”

 

“What’s your name, and why am I here?” Clarke asked, dully.

 

“Doctor Edha Ganaka.” Clarke waited for the answer to her second question, but Ganaka was silent. She turned instead to the other suit, who nodded like a puppet, and reached out to take Clarke’s arm. “We’ll take you to see Bellamy, but just for a short time.”

 

Clarke swayed when she got up, feeling light-headed. Surely this was too easy? They were just letting her see him, after taking measures to ensure she and Monty had never even been in the corridor at the same time. Had no one else asked to see their friends – had Finn not asked to see her? Had he not survived with Bellamy?

 

She could only hope that, like her, no one else had thought to ask to be allowed to see their people. It occurred to her that perhaps they had been watching the settlement for a while, since the bomb had gone off perhaps, and that they were letting her see Bellamy because they were what passed for leaders. The thought made her stomach twist, and her feet dragged as they chaperoned her down the corridor, Ganaka’s dark braid shining glossily under the lights. They took her down two doors, and stopped.

 

He had been close to her all along, she realised, as they opened the door.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she noticed was the scars. All along the right side of his neck, and dipping down over his shoulder like the first thunder cloud she’d seen on earth.

 

“You were burnt,” she murmured, tracing her fingertips lightly over the skin before she could stop herself. Bellamy raised his eyebrows, amused but unimpressed.

 

“That’s an unusual way to say hello,” he grinned, though his hands were twisting in his sheets. “Is how they do it back on the upper levels?” She smiled despite herself. He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher for a second, and then hugged her very tightly. Clarke hadn’t realised how much she missed the way he smelt – even clean, she could still smell the warmth of his skin, the slight hint of his sweat. He felt like waking up in bed early, only to go back to sleep. He felt like home. When she had catalogued the scent of him, she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was alive, and tangible, and there were so many others who weren’t.

 

“What happened to you?” she asked, but she was crying at the same time, winding her fingers through his hair.

 

He stilled, then pushed her gently away and sat her down on the bed next to him. “After you shut the door to the shuttle I – I knew what was going to happen, so I got back into the tunnels,” he began, shooting a look up at Ganaka through the window. Her expression was unreadable, but they were clearly being listened to. “It didn’t do much good, not when the engine turned on. If you’d started any earlier I’d be worse.”

 

“What about – ” Clarke couldn’t bring herself to finish asking.

 

“I don’t know,” Bellamy whispered, resting his forehead against hers in a gesture that felt uncharacteristically gentle. She hadn’t known he could do gentle. “Clarke, I don’t know what happened. It was dark, there were so many bodies.”

 

“I left you out there to die,” she reminded him, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself crying; “I shut the door and left you to burn, both of you. Bellamy, I’ve killed so many people.”

 

“You made the hard choice, Clarke,” he told her, cupping her face. “You made the right choice. Don’t let it break you. Don’t let _them_ break you,” he whispered, and she took strength from him.  

 

Clarke wanted nothing more than to curl into him, but up close the burn scars were even worse, and she didn’t think she could bear to be skin close with the effects of her actions just yet. “It was quiet for a long time, so when it began to get light again I crawled back to the surface to see if you’d opened the door again,” Bellamy said, and rubbed his unscarred shoulder, like a nervous tic.

 

“And then they took you too,” Clarke finished, after the silence had stretched out between them.

 

“And then they took me too,” he sighed, and she frowned, looking at the place he’d been rubbing. She pulled his hand away and worried at her lower lip; he had the same tiny scarred square of skin. It was healed perfectly, just like hers – whatever ointment they’d used on them had clearly worked magic on his burns too. Clarke shuddered to think of the pain he must have been in, crawling up to the light. She had burnt her hand once on boiling water and the pain had kept her awake for hours; his must have felt like being flayed alive.

 

Movement by the window made them both freeze. “How long do you have?” Bellamy asked, his hand on her wrist, and Clarke shook her head.

 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, and then the door was open, hands dragging her away from him. “I don’t know anything anymore,” she sobbed, reaching for him, but he was gone.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t let her see him for days, and when she begged them to let her see Monty they told her he’d been moved elsewhere. At first it made her hysterical, and then she remembered Bellamy’s words, and breathed deeply.

 

She’d been in solitary confinement for months, she reminded herself. She could manage a few days in a bunker, even if they didn’t give her anything to draw with.

 

When she was calmer, she thought about how Monty had been there longer than she had, so it was probable they had seen fit to take him to a place where they were less worried about contamination. Or perhaps they were starting interrogation.

 

Clarke really hoped they didn’t do interrogation like she and Bellamy had.

 

* * *

 

Ganaka came to visit her the next day, for once not wearing a contamination suit. Her right hand was completely immobile, Clarke noticed, and couldn’t help frowning.

 

“You have a medical mind,” Ganaka stated, following Clarke’s gaze.

 

“My mom was a doctor,” Clarke said, hating how easily the _was_ already sprang to her lips. “Does it affect the joints, or the muscles?”

 

“You have a lot of catching up to do,” noted Ganaka, the smallest smile playing at her mouth. “Things changed while you were up on the Ark.”

 

“You know about the Ark?”

 

“Of course,” Ganaka nodded, handing Clarke a pair of shoes. “Put those on, we’re going for a walk.”

 

“But if you knew about the Ark, why didn’t you ever make contact?” Clarke asked, confused. She wriggled her feet into the shoes and followed Ganaka out of the door. It felt strange to leave without someone pulling her arm.

 

“Your people made their decision, we made ours.” They walked to the end of the hallway – in the opposite direction to Bellamy’s room, Clarke noted bitterly – but every window she passed showed only an empty room.

 

“Where are the others?” she frowned, as Ganaka placed her palm on the wall. It glowed for a moment, then split open to reveal a lift, the same featureless white as the rest of the floor.

 

“Elsewhere.” Ganaka said, but explained no further.

 

“Finn?” Clarke asked, holding her breath, but got only silence in return. She blinked back tears. _Don’t let them break you_. The lift took them lower down – Clarke presumed the deeper levels were for the more important people – and stopped abruptly. The doors split open again to reveal a large hallway, which opened into a round room.

 

The round room contained people, paintings, and Bellamy.

 

* * *

 

“The President?”

 

Clarke was aware she was gaping, but it seemed only fair. “The Present? Of the United States?” she asked again.

 

“It’s the Western Countries, now, actually,” corrected President Dalton. She was a short woman who looked to be in her late fifties, grey hair in an appealing short cut. She wore the same clothes as Ganaka – a plain black jumpsuit, with only a golden pin in the lapel to single her out. “Easier to ally ourselves, given our small numbers.”

 

“Small numbers? How many are there of you?”

 

Dalton shared a look with the man who sat just behind her. His eyes were closed off, like wet stones, and he made Clarke shiver slightly.

 

“That information is classified,” he said, softly, and Clarke found herself moving unconsciously closer to Bellamy. His shoulder pressed against hers, and she reminded herself of what he’d said yet again.

 

“Why are we here, anyway?” Bellamy asked, apparently losing his patience. “You’ve kept us in those rooms for weeks – I feel like you’ve taken more blood than was strictly necessary, too.”

 

“We needed to make sure you were safe,” Ganaka reminded him.

 

“From what?” snorted Bellamy. “From grounders? Because believe me, you could have intervened a little quicker if that was your aim.”

 

Clarke tugged his wrist. “C’mon, Bellamy,” she hissed under her breath. “We need actual answers.” He quieted, but didn’t look pleased.

 

“It’s policy not to intervene in the motions of those outside unless strictly necessary,” the small man interjected, and Bellamy’s look could’ve flayed him alive.

 

“Your policy is bullshit,” he spat. “Our friends died, and you could’ve helped us.”

 

“How were we to know you wanted to be helped?” Dalton reminded them. “We knew two things about you: you were aggressive to outside influences, and had the technology to not only land a shuttle but also create effective bombs. Perhaps you were simply the first of an invading company.”

 

Not far off, Clarke thought, bitterly. “How do you know we’re not?” she asked, and Bellamy stared at her. _Actual answers?_ he mouthed at her, eyebrows raised.

 

“We’ve been talking to the others we recovered,” the small man said, tapping his index fingers on the stack of papers in front of him. “They indicated you were a last-ditch mission. They also indicated that you two are, well, their would-be leaders.” He tilted his head slightly to one side, as if waiting for an explanation for why two such clearly lacking individuals were placed in such a position. Clarke’s cheeks burnt with shame; she was directly responsible for the deaths of so many. What kind of people deserved her as a leader?

 

“If you hurt any of them – ” Bellamy began, and Clarke yanked his arm again.

 

“That’s enough,” she murmured. “We’re hardly in a position to threaten them, Bellamy.” So much for _Whatever the hell we want_ , she thought, and part of her glowed at that. If she was going down, perhaps at least he was heading up.  

 

“You’ve all been treated exactly the same,” the President said, reassuringly, and turned back to Ganaka. “Are they all out of H5?” Clarke assumed that was what they called high contamination. Ganaka nodded, then handed over a small piece of paper.

 

“If I may excuse myself?” she asked, face impassive.

 

“Of course, Doctor,” the President said absently, already reading the slip. She waved in Ganaka’s direction lazily, and Clarke thought she saw a flicker of irritation pass over the doctor’s face. Their eyes met for a second, and then she was gone. “Cunningham, you may fill them in.”

 

“Doctor Ganaka has determined you are uncontaminated in all the ways we know of,” Cunningham told them, but that didn’t ease the sense of distrust in Clarke’s stomach. “Since you two are what pass as leaders, we’ve decided to use you as … ambassadors, of sorts.”

 

“For what?” Clarke asked warily.

 

“We want you to talk to the ship that crashed,” Dalton explained, as if to children.

 

“The Ark?” Bellamy frowned. “There are survivors?” Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.

 

“Indeed,” nodded the small man. “You’ve already shown yourself to be an aggressive breed, but perhaps you’ll take into account that we have hostages.”

 

“Breed?” Clarke couldn’t stop herself pulling a face. “We’re just as human as you are.”

 

“Certainly,” shrugged the small man. “But we’re not all the same any more. You’re from the air - whereas we are truly from the earth.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke had thought that nothing would ever beat the first time she’d breathed fresh air, the day they’d landed in the forest. She was wrong, though – breathing fresh air after weeks of the bunker was better. Her hands went instinctively to the ground, fingers running through the grass. Everything felt and smelled alive, she thought, inhaling deeply.

 

“I don’t want to ruin your communion with nature, Clarke, but we’re on a time limit,” Bellamy reminded her sternly, but when she looked up he was grinning.

 

“Do I have to be the one to remind _you_ to have a little fun?” she teased, and threw a tiny pinecone at him before ducking behind a tree. She heard him splutter, then laugh, and another pinecone sailed past her, inches from her face. “That all you got?” she called, ducking down and slipping quickly to the next tree.

 

The forest was silent. Clarke held her breath, then squawked indignantly as she was grabbed around the waist and spun around. They overbalanced, landing on the grass in the dappled sunlight. Bellamy’s arm tightened around her as they turned their faces to the light. It was already colder outside than she last remembered, but the sunlight was still warm.

 

“Did you ever read about sunflowers?” Clarke murmured, and Bellamy hummed in agreement. She toyed with the idea of teasing him for admitting to reading about flowers – a few weeks ago she wasn’t sure he knew how to do anything except rile up a crowd and get a girl naked – but decided she liked this side of him. “I feel like I know how they feel. I missed the sun,” she sighed. “I missed – god, I missed all of this.” Clarke wriggled into his side, enjoying the feel of another human being beside her. “Except you, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Bellamy nodded sagely, as if he completely agreed, but made no move to get away from her.

 

“Did they let you see anyone else?” Clarke asked, watching the trees ripple in the wind. The jacket they’d given her was snug and warm around her neck, but her hands were starting to feel cold, so she tucked them into her sleeves.

 

“No. Actually, I never thought to ask, until you came in,” he admitted.

 

“Octavia?” she frowned, and he shook his head.

 

“She’s with Lincoln,” he sighed, and Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

 

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s good.”

 

Bellamy gave her a wry look. “Stop taking the responsibility for everyone’s lives, princess.”

 

The re-emergence of her nickname made her roll her eyes and get to her feet, wiping leaves off her back. She reached down to give him a hand up, and checked the map they’d been given. “We’ve got a bit of a walk to go, yet,” she said, pointing at the dotted line they’d been instructed to follow, and Bellamy shouldered the backpack that Ganaka had given them as they left.

 

“Best get moving, then.” He looked back over his shoulder. “We’re being followed,” he whispered, and Clarke laughed bitterly.

 

“Of course we are,” she said, tucking the map away and moving off into the trees. “We started something a lot bigger than we realised when we blew up that bridge,” she called behind her, and then her face set in a grim expression. “A lot bigger than we realise _now_ , too, probably.”

 

* * *

 

 

The walk took them longer than she expected, close to the ruined carcass of their landing shuttle, and Clarke felt sick just looking in that direction. Bellamy pulled her hand in the opposite direction and they took a detour – “Let’s just take the fucking scenic route already,” he grouched, but he squeezed her hand – which led them past the site where Raven had crash landed.

 

This time, neither of them had any detours.

 

* * *

 

By nightfall, they were close enough to the Ark that they could see figures. There was a make-shift wall, a couple of tents, and a fire.

 

“We did a better job,” Bellamy sniffed, and Clarke elbowed him in the ribs gently.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, and looked back over her shoulder. In the darkness of the forest behind her she could see a single green light that blinked on, then off, then on again. “They’re getting impatient. We should get a move on.”

 

Even in the dim light, she could see him frown. They’d been given strict instructions by Cunningham, which involved getting to the Ark campsite, making introductions for the Mount Weather bunker and the Western Countries, and then relaying any information about willingness to cooperate to the team following them. Following that, they were to wait until someone told them otherwise, Cunningham told them, tapping his index fingers against the map he held out to them.

 

“I don’t like this at all,” Bellamy said, his hand on Clarke’s elbow. “We’re playing with something a lot bigger than us, and we don’t understand it well enough yet.”

 

“I know,” she shrugged, “but what else can we do? Look what happened last time we didn’t try talking.”

 

“We _did_ try talking that time. They had archers,” he retorted, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in the argument.

 

“And they have hostages this time,” Clarke reminded him. “I won’t leave anyone behind, not again,” she said, raising her chin up and staring back into the forest. Bellamy’s grip on her elbow tightened, and then he moved away.

 

“Thought you’d lost your badass streak there for a second,” he told her, and it sounded like he was proud of her.

 

* * *

 

When it came down to it, the moment where they saw each other, Clarke wasn’t sure if she actually made a sound or not. She opened her arms, reached out, and her mom was there.

 

It wasn’t like it was going to change anything, really, she thought, sitting by the fire later. Bellamy looked at her like he’d heard the thought and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“She missed you,” he reminded her, knocking her knee with his. On the other side of the fire, Abby shot them a quick glance and a smile.

 

“Careful, Bellamy,” Clarke warned. “You don’t want people to start thinking you care, do you?”

 

This time it was Bellamy who rolled his eyes. Pretty soon they were going to need eye-drops, she thought.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly morning when they finished talking through the initial terms made by Dalton, and Clarke found herself yawning widely as they relayed the Ark camp’s willingness to cooperate back to the recon team in the forest. She half expected them to shoot her and Bellamy both in the head and then descend on the camp below, but there was nothing more than a radio transmission and a nod from Michael, the leader. After strict instructions to meet him again the following evening, he melted back into the shadows and was gone.

 

“C’mon, Clarke. Bedtime,” Bellamy insisted, leading her back to the camp.  Clarke followed him without really watching, trusting him to get her back safely, and stood dazed when he left her at the doorway of her hastily constructed tent.

 

He stared at her from a few paces away, and then shook his head. “Really?” he asked, bemused, and Clarke blinked, too tired to comprehend. Bellamy sighed heavily, gave her a look of indignation, and pushed her into the tent. He unlaced her boots, tucked a hat over her long hair, and pulled her into bed with him.

 

“It’s too cold out here to sleep separately anyway,” he muttered, after a few minutes of silence. Clarke made a wordless noise of agreement and pressed her cold nose against the crook of his neck, making him yelp with surprise.

 

“I didn’t think you were capable of that kind of noise,” she admitted, breathing in the smell of him. It was more like him, now, after a day of walking and a night by the campfire. He smelt human again.

 

“We’re all learning new things about ourselves on this planet,” he said flatly, as if that displeased him, and pulled her closer. “Go to sleep, princess.”

 

* * *

 

When she woke up in the morning his arm was heavy over her neck where he’d accidentally moved it in the night, and she could feel his dick pressing against her thigh. He didn’t apologise about it when he woke up, and she grinned to herself whenever she remembered it during the day.

 

She wasn’t sure why she did that, but it kept happening.  

 

* * *

 

The following evening they returned to the edge of the forest to find Michael. Bellamy was twitchy, constantly looking for an excuse to pick a fight, and it was making Clarke equally on edge. It wasn’t that anyone had done anything, per se, it was more that he could feel the way the survivors from the Ark were looking at him, as if waiting for him to mess up. To them, it didn’t matter so much that he’d been pardoned – they hadn’t seen what he’d done on earth, Clarke thought.

 

“Hey,” she said, stopping him before they got to the line of trees. “They don’t know you, not like I do.” He didn’t meet her eye. “You got us through, Bellamy. You got me through. Remember that next time one of them gives you a look.”

 

She took off before he could answer, though she suspected he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“You’re late,” Michael sighed, appearing suddenly with an ease that made Clarke feel like someone had poured ice down her back.

 

“It’s been a long day,” Clarke shrugged, as Bellamy came to stand next to her. She just prayed he wouldn’t kick off about anything.

 

“Let’s see now,” Michael hummed, checking a small screen in the palm of his hand. “The President wants to talk to you.” He passed the screen over, and Clarke tried to find the button to activate the radio. “Um, no,” Michael winced, adjusting the gun strap over his shoulder and pointing to the screen; “you just – just look at it. She can see you and hear you fine.”

 

“Oh,” frowned Clarke, and then her eyes widened. She’d heard about technology like this existing on earth before the bombs, but the Ark had reused and recycled everything so thoroughly by the time she was born that it no longer existed to be held. “Uh – ” she looked quickly at Bellamy, who shrugged, face blank. “Hi?” she settled on, and the President’s face blurred and then refocused. She was smiling.

 

“I hear things are going well at the camp,” she began, and then looked down, as if consulting a piece of paper. “We’ve started the process of releasing the others back to you. We’d like one of you to come back and chaperone the operation, as it were.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Bellamy cut in, before Clarke had a moment to think about it. “When do you need me back?”

 

“As soon as possible. Half of the team will return with you, and we’ll see that you leave with provisions to get you back to the Ark camp.”

 

Bellamy nodded, but Clarke could tell from the jut of his jaw that he didn’t believe a word of it. He handed the screen back without asking anything else, then grabbed Clarke’s arm and pulled her away. “I’ll be back at dawn,” he called over his shoulder at Michael, ignoring Clarke’s protestations.

 

“Bellamy! You can’t just go running off by yourself,” she pressed, after he kept ignoring her.

 

“What’s the alternative, huh? You go, and they put you back in a room?” He stopped walking and turned to face her so quickly she almost bumped into him. They were close enough that she could see the smudge of dirt on his jaw from where he’d been helping construct more permanent housing with Kane and some of the others. Without thinking, she wiped her finger over it, and Bellamy looked dazed for a second.

 

“They won’t put me back in that room,” Clarke stated, “they’ve done all the tests they need to. And they took our skin – whatever they’re doing, they have the materials for it already.” Bellamy frowned.

 

“They took yours as well?” he asked, and she nodded.

 

“I’m pretty sure if you check all of the others, they’ll have that same missing square.”

 

“What the hell did they take our _skin_ for?” Bellamy muttered. Clarke thought about how they were still standing very close to each other, but it was making her feel warmer in the cool evening air, so she didn’t mention it.

 

A horrible idea dawned on her. “Ganaka’s right hand is frozen,” she reminded him. “She said a lot of things were different – how big is the bunker at Mount Weather?”

 

He looked utterly confused. “I don’t know, nobody knows that. Why does that matter?”

 

“Bellamy, the Ark was huge – we had the greatest diversity of genetics possible with such short notice for evacuation. Even with our losses, Mount Weather can’t possibly be as big, not by itself, and that means their gene pool is dwindling rapidly.” Clarke rubbed her face, trying to figure out if she could possibly be right. “What if – what if they need us here, to introduce variation?”

 

“You mean they’re just allowing us to live so they can harvest our genetic material?” Bellamy pulled a face.

 

“Why bother to do that when they can just integrate us into their society?” Clarke shrugged. “Maybe they took the skin as a back-up, since we’re all criminals anyway.”

 

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Bellamy sighed, moving away from her. “If they wanted that, wouldn’t it have been simpler to just keep us in those containment rooms until they needed us?”

 

Clarke shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore, none of this makes sense to me at all.” She stood next to him, staring at the camp below. There were distant figures moving around the fire and tents, though most people had moved back into the structure of the Ark as it grew colder outside.

 

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going back, and you’re staying,” Bellamy told her, and Clarke resisted the urge to scream in frustration.

 

“Why me? You don’t have to treat this like a suicide mission, Bellamy – we’re going together.”

 

“Listen to me, Clarke. They need you here, your mom needs you. I need you to stay here.” He paused, as if the admission had caused him some sort of pain. “If you go, and it is some sort of trap, it’ll destroy her. Besides, they could probably do with another doctor.” He nudged his shoulder against hers. Clarke was unimpressed.

 

“And I suppose you think if it’s a trap and you’re the one caught in it, no one will be destroyed by that?”

 

The silence that descended was absolute, and Clarke found she was blushing. The last light was disappearing over the valley, and she could hardly see Bellamy’s face anymore.

 

“Octavia’s not here anymore,” he said, eventually.

 

Clarke made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a huff of annoyance. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she fumed, and stormed off back to camp.

 

* * *

 

She refused to sleep in the Ark, and bundled herself up in the blankets she’d slept in the previous evening. They all smelt like him, and she was torn between smiling at that and wanting to punch something.

 

Late in the night, when she was almost asleep, Bellamy crawled into her tent and into the nest of warmth she’d made for herself, wrapping himself around her.

 

“Are you scared?” she asked. She didn’t need to tell him she wasn’t referring to the mission.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, quietly, after a few heartbeats. Clarke drew his arms closer, linking her fingers with his.

 

“Me too,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

There was a light frost on the ground when Bellamy left the next morning, extricating himself slowly from the sleepy tangle of blankets they’d built around themselves. Clarke followed him out into the dawn and watched from beside the dying fire as he trudged off towards the forest.

 

“Bellamy, wait!” she called, running after him, and he stopped but didn’t turn back. Clarke waited until they were side by side, their breath mingling in the air. “I have to tell you something.”

 

When he didn’t answer, she took a deep breath and continued. “I killed someone. When the grounders took me, I thought they’d killed Finn and – and I killed the guard they put with me. I killed him and I didn’t even feel _bad_ about it.”  

 

Bellamy was silent for so long that she thought maybe he’d never speak to her again.

 

“We’ve both done things we’re not proud of.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and then he cleared his throat. “You told me once that you forgave me,” he said, and rested his hand at the juncture of her neck and shoulder; “so Clarke, if you want forgiveness, fine - I forgive you.”

 

Clarke shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to let it go. When she looked at him again he gave a half-smile, like he was almost embarrassed, and then he was gone.

 

He didn’t say goodbye, but that was probably because he didn’t know how to say it anymore, she reasoned. She wasn’t particularly sure either. This felt nothing like it had with Finn – this felt like free-fall, terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. She wondered if it was going to end with a sudden collision with reality.

 

Abby stacked logs on the fire, jerking Clarke from her reverie. “He’s off, then?” she asked, and Clarke nodded, confused. “He explained last night, after you got back, said you were tired.” She gave Clarke a look that was a mixture of too many uncomfortable, intense emotions, and turned back to the fire. “I can see why the kids follow him.”

 

“We all follow him,” Clarke corrected, rubbing her arms to try and get warm again. Abby smiled, and nodded. “How come you’re up so early?” she asked, frowning.

 

“Jaha,” sighed her mother, suddenly looking her age. The commander had managed a couple of quick fixes, which bought him more oxygen than they’d thought, but they still didn’t know if they’d be able to get him down. Clarke knew Abby and Kane often took turns simply wearing the headset, so Jaha could hear another human breathing. He liked to know someone out there knew he was still alive, he’d said. “He’s starting to believe there’s only one end to his situation,” Abby murmured, more to herself than to her daughter.

 

Clarke sensed a conversation looming, and made her escape. She moved quietly to the tools stacked in the largest room still standing in the Ark, and found a spade they’d recovered from the wreckage of the greenhouse deck. It wasn’t going to help much with what she was planning to do, but it would be better than nothing.

Squinting in the bright sunrise, Clarke made her way slowly back to the charred remains of the shuttle. She knew it wasn’t particularly safe to be out when they still didn’t know the situation with the grounders, but she needed to see.

 

There were already shoots of green springing up between the shards of bone. The ash had blown away or melded with the dirt, she wasn’t sure which, and there were birds in the trees. Clarke found the mounds of dirt – still charred – that held the bodies of the others who’d been buried, and then made her way into the shuttle. She refused to look at any of the skeletons on the ground.

 

The smell inside the shuttle was almost overpowering, and her eyes watered. Clarke’s boots knocked against one of the empty gas canisters as she made her way deeper, following the marks of dragged bodies. In the furthest corner, curled up, she found a body.

 

She’d never asked Ganaka about Raven. There had been so much blood that there was no way she could have survived, but she hadn’t wanted to know for certain. It had been easier to hold onto a frail hope, to pray she’d be there when Bellamy brought back the others, arms crossed over her chest, unimpressed and irrepressible. But she’d had to look. Had to know.  

 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke whispered, reaching out to touch the burnt edge of the jacket, and then pulled her hand back quickly. The arms were curled over the head, and she was glad because it meant she didn’t have to look at the face. “I’m so sorry, Raven,” she wept, wiping angrily at her face, and returned to the mouth of the shuttle to pull down the cloth that had covered the entrance. It fell to the floor in a huff of ash, and Clarke dragged it over to the corpse, carefully winding it around until she could pull the whole thing out into the open. She tried not to think about what Raven’s body looked like, or what was under the jacket. At least the larger animals had seemed to avoid the area, so her body was still in one piece.

 

It took her the best part of the morning to dig the grave, and by the time she’d managed to roll the canvas shroud in and cover it back up again her fingernails were torn and muddy, and her stomach felt like it was full of acid. She found bits of scrap metal, wires, and a burnt out radio from one of the foxholes, and arranged them clumsily over the grave to mark it.

 

“I know you’d say this looks like shit,” she said out loud, wiping at her face again. “It does look like shit. Mixed media was never my thing,” she admitted, and then covered her mouth to stop herself from sobbing loudly. When it seemed like she was under control again she carried on. “I know you said Finn was all you had, but – ” another pause, another gathering; “but that’s not true. You’re _my_ family too, Raven. I miss you so much.”

 

Clarke took a few steps into the forest and threw up until all she could manage was dry heaving. She didn’t look for Finn’s body. _Not yet_ , she told herself. _One step at a time_.

 

* * *

 

 

It took until the next day for Bellamy to return, and when he did it was only with twenty of the others. Clarke didn’t see him at first, and her throat closed painfully over a bubble of air as she searched the small group for his familiar stride. She found Monty instead, who clung to her, skinnier now than she remembered. Jasper wasn’t far behind, though she noticed they’d taken his goggles – or perhaps he’d lost them? It was impossible to tell. He had dark circles under his eyes and a smile that made her worried. She might have closed the door but he’d started the engines, Clarke remembered.

 

“It’s so good to see you again,” she told him, pushing his fringe back. “Your parents are waiting for you.” She tried to tell him _This isn’t your burden to bear_ , gentling him, but she wasn’t sure it worked.

 

“Yeah,” Jasper said, but he sounded disconnected. Monty gave her a look.

 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he muttered under his breath as he passed her, dragging Jasper by the arm, and she nodded. This wasn’t the end of the fight, this was just a plateau, and they all needed to make peace with their demons if they wanted to be ready for whatever came next.

 

She found Bellamy talking to Abby and Kane by the Ark, their voices low.

 

“I still don’t understand why they let us go,” Bellamy murmured, expression dark.

 

“None of us do,” Abby added. “All we can do is assume that they’re doing this simply because they _can_ – they know the lay of the land out here. We’re going to be on our back foot for a long time yet.”

 

“So it’s a gesture of good faith?” Kane frowned, as Clarke came to stand with them. He offered her a tight smile and squeezed her shoulder. Clarke still wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about him, but she allowed it. Her mother seemed to trust him now, if her body language was anything to go by.

 

“Probably,” Clarke said, crossing her arms over her chest. Bellamy’s gaze followed the movement, and he looked distracted for a second before he cleared his throat and stared hastily over her shoulder instead. “I think they might need to widen their gene pool,” she continued hastily, to distract herself from the blush that was threatening to engulf her cheeks.

 

“What do you mean?” Abby was frowning now.

 

“The doctor who I spoke to, the one who had the hand I told you about, Ganaka – she mentioned that we have a lot to catch up with. What if gene traits that used to be fairly benign before the bombs got a lot worse within a small population?” Clarke bit her lip, wondering if she’d thought this through too many times in her head for it to make sense any more.

 

“Well, I’ve never heard of anything like that before,” Abby admitted, and Clarke sighed inwardly. “I suppose it’s possible – we saw something that might have been a jaguar fighting a water snake earlier, so who knows what could happen on this planet.”

 

“Probably better to discuss this later,” Kane suggested, looking inside the Ark to where several families were watching their conversation with interest.

 

“I’ll think about what you said, Clarke,” Abby smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear, and she and Kane moved off to continue taking stock of the returned teenagers. Some families were still scanning the horizon for their children, and Clarke didn’t have the heart to go and talk to them yet.  

 

Bellamy rocked on the balls of his feet, hands dug deep into his pockets. He looked like he hadn’t slept well while he’d been away.

 

“How come there are so few?” Clarke asked, staring at Monty’s parents, who looked like they were still awed by the way the clouds changed so quickly. She couldn’t blame them – but it was still funny to see Monty’s exasperation as they broke off in the middle of a conversation to point at the sky. Bellamy followed her gaze and grinned, but the expression didn’t last longer than a second. 

 

“The others wanted to stay for a while,” he shrugged, but he looked as if he’d failed.

 

“How many were there in total?” she asked, though she almost didn’t want to know. He winced.

 

“Fewer than fifty,” he said, and she touched his wrist gently, as if he might break. “The hard choice, remember, Clarke.” He smiled tightly, and her heart squeezed painfully.

 

“I buried Raven,” she told him. “Do you want to see the grave?” He nodded, and they set off in the afternoon sunlight. Clarke felt the eyes of the team from Mount Weather following them, but she was too tired to tell them to leave. Their presence kept the grounders away, in any case.

 

They stood at the foot of the grave, already beginning to show shoots of green, and Clarke noticed the pieces of metal she’d found were rusted slightly. “She’d like it,” Bellamy told her, after a few minutes of silence.

 

“She’d hate it,” Clarke snorted.

 

“Probably,” Bellamy acquiesced, “but I’m not sure I could list five things that Raven genuinely liked. Being right, Finn and mechanics is all I’ve got so far.” Clarke cracked a smile, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She didn’t even like me after we’d had sex.”

 

She didn’t feel surprised to hear it, just sort of sad. “I wish,” Bellamy began, and Clarke knew what he was going to say.

 

“I wish she’d been loved one more time before she died,” she finished for him, and his mouth twisted like he wanted to give up. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“C’mon, Clarke.” He pulled her gently by the wrist, but didn’t object when she linked their fingers instead. They made their way back towards camp, taking the longer route by the stream where there were sometimes deer. There wasn’t anything to say, and they let the silence stretch over the evening sunlight until they found a flat warm rock to sit on, overlooking the camp.

 

“What do you think the grounders will do?” she asked, watching the sun dip down behind the trees.

 

“I think they’re scared of the people at Mount Weather,” Bellamy mused, “and we should probably be too. They’ll keep away for a bit, but as soon as it looks like we’re on our own again, then they’ll be back.”

 

“Winter’s coming, though,” Clarke reminded him. “If it gets cold enough they might not risk all-out war until spring.”

 

Bellamy nodded. “The Ark has a lot of machinery we can put to good use,” he reminded her. Neither of them mentioned that it would’ve been a lot easier if Raven had been there.

 

“Octavia?” she ventured, and his expression was unreadable again.

 

“She’ll come back, if or when she wants to,” he replied eventually. Clarke studied his profile until he met her gaze. “Did we do ok, Clarke?” he asked.

 

She nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I think we did alright,” she told him, but she wasn’t sure who needed the reassurance most. He kissed her then, hands softly tracing the line of her jaw, and Clarke was free-falling again, blood pumping so hard she could hear it. His mouth was so gentle, she thought; it belied the strength in him that she counted on now.

 

“We should get back to camp,” he whispered to her, in between kisses, as she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

“We’ll go in a minute,” she agreed, but it was longer than that.  

 

* * *

 

Autumn was setting in hard, and the Ark became a hive of activity. Hunting and scouting parties went out daily in groups of four, often with Clarke or Bellamy leading them until the others had learned the land. The remaining surviving structures of the Ark were altered to make-shift rooms for separate families, while others chose to chop down trees to make their own wooden shelters. Word from Mount Weather indicated the winter would be milder than previous, but still cold. Clarke greeted the news with a mixture of distrust and annoyance. If it was going to be a harsh winter, why not help them out a bit with building?

 

A week after the first thick frosts began to cover the grass, Dalton extended an invitation to visit Mount Weather again, to talk. The invitation specified the presence of both Clarke and Bellamy.

 

“This sounds like a bad idea,” he stated, as soon as he heard about it, and Clarke pulled a face at him.

 

“Don’t you want to eat different food for one meal?” she asked, and he paused, swaying between taste-buds and common sense. “They gave back the twenty,” Clarke sing-song called at him.

 

“Fine,” he allowed, but twisted his fingers into the fabric of her t-shirt and pulled her back to him for a kiss that burnt through her. “But I’m not happy about it,” he said, abruptly breaking away.

 

“I’m not happy with you stopping,” Clarke snapped, but the way she swayed in his grip made it clear there was no actual anger behind the words.

 

“Well, now we’re both annoyed,” he shrugged, and took off before she could retort.

 

That was the thing about Bellamy, Clarke thought, staring after him. Nothing about him was ever going to be straight-forward.

 

* * *

 

Jasper met her outside the small room in the Ark she’d made for herself. He looked nervous, though the dark circles beneath his eyes had mostly faded. It was early in the morning, and she was surprised to see him up.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and watched as he twisted his hands nervously. He looked incomplete without his goggles.

 

“Do you have to go back?”

 

Clarke touched his arm, trying to be as reassuring as possible. “Only,” Jasper continued, “Bellamy mentioned something about them taking a bit of your skin, and his too.”

 

“Yeah, it’s left a scar,” Clarke nodded, and then raised an eyebrow. “I assumed we all had them.”

 

“That’s the thing, Clarke;” Jasper was shaking his head, and then he pulled the frayed neckline of his t-shirt away to show her the unmarked skin of first one shoulder, and then the other. “None of the rest of us has anything like that.”

 

She stared. “I’m going to be late,” she murmured to herself, and patted him awkwardly on the arm. “I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation for this,” Clarke assured him, shouldering her bag, and made an escape. “We’ll figure it out when I get back!”

 

It didn’t shake the sense of unease that was beginning to root in her stomach, though. 

 

Michael met them at the edge of the forest and they made their way back to Mount Weather while a storm set in behind them. Bellamy was silent the entire time, his face blank even as they were showered with hail. When they arrived they were all soaked to the bone, and Clarke wondered bitterly why she’d bothered to wash before setting out. She was still wearing the white t-shirt they’d put her in when in containment, though she doubted it would ever return to its original pristine hue.

 

Cunningham met them in the round room again, which made Clarke even more uneasy, but he simply asked if they wanted to change clothes before the meal that had been prepared. Bellamy gave her a look that clearly said _There’s something weird going on here_ , but she ignored him in favour of diplomacy. She still wasn’t sure why they were never met by more than three people – surely Mount Weather had a council, just like the Ark had?

 

The clothes they were given were white again, and Clarke began to get the same bad feeling Bellamy clearly had, but there was no choice now but to change and go to dinner. She twisted her wet hair away from her face and took a deep breath.

 

Dalton and Ganaka were both there, but Cunningham was notably absent. There was nothing overtly fancy about the room they were in, Clarke thought, as they were seated. She noticed three cameras trained on her, and nudged Bellamy’s leg under the table. His expression didn’t change, stuck in something that looked like a mix between worry and resentment.

 

“So glad you came,” Dalton smiled, as they were served. Ganaka said nothing, simply staring at her plate.

 

“We were a bit confused, actually,” Clarke replied, poking at the white cubes on her plate with a fork. She didn’t mention that they weren’t in a position to refuse Mount Weather anything.

 

“It’s agave jelly,” explained Dalton. “Very tasty.”

 

“It looks like everything else in this building,” remarked Bellamy, flatly. Clarke kicked him under the table, plastering on her best smile.

 

“Why are we here?” she asked. “Do the others want to come back with us?” Her gaze flickered between Dalton and Ganaka, both of whose expressions remained fixed.

 

“How about we leave the talking until after the meal?” Dalton suggested, and Clarke’s stomach clenched painfully. The President sighed, sitting back in her chair. “It’s about the grounders,” she eventually said, and Clarke knew her relief was visible. “They’re gathering. We need to talk about allying ourselves.”

 

Bellamy shot her a look, and Clarke nodded slightly. She picked up her fork and started eating. Dalton smiled warmly, and did the same. The jelly was tasteless, turning to water on her tongue, but Clarke finished it all anyway, not wanting to seem rude. They were presented with salmon next, which made her catch her breath – she’d never eaten one before - and the fish seemed to melt in her mouth. They ate for pleasure here, that much was for sure.

 

The last course was a sugary stick of pastry the like of which she’d never tasted before, with a sweet filling that she knew had to be strawberry. She closed her eyes with bliss, licking the last of the filling from her lips, and sat back in her chair, satiated.

 

“Thank god,” Dalton whispered, and Clarke jolted upright, her eyes open. As she stared, Ganaka stood up quickly, pushing her untouched plate back.

 

“We should never have done this,” she shook her head, still staring down, and walked past Dalton. She stopped next to Clarke, putting her hand on her shoulder. Something sharp was in her hand, and Clarke yelped as it pressed into her. “They’re only children,” Ganaka burst out. She and Dalton shared a look of intense distrust, and then she stormed from the room.

 

“Please excuse the doctor,” Dalton murmured, looking exhausted as she reclined in her chair. Clarke almost jumped as Bellamy gripped her wrist.

 

“Something’s very wrong,” he hissed, and she could see his breathing was coming too quickly. “There was something in that food.”

 

“Of course there was something in it.” Dalton’s tone was sad, and she traced the rim of her plate lazily with one finger.

 

“What have you done to us?” Clarke panted, gripping Bellamy’s hand equally tightly. She felt as if she was burning up, her hair sticking to her neck.

 

“It’s a stimulant that Doctor Ganaka has been working on for quite some time,” explained the President. “A mixture of several chemicals that will send your brain into overdrive. We’ve tested it on a few subjects here, but never on two with any emotional connection.”

 

“What the hell does it do?” Bellamy shouted, rising from his chair, but the strength seemed to drain from him and he sagged against the table on his elbows. Clarke made a noise of despair, clutching for him, but everything felt too hot and her vision was fading.

 

“Stimulates the sex drive.” Dalton’s voice was coming from far away now, as if she was leaving them. “I’m sorry to say this was simply an experiment. My name is Doctor Marie Dalton, and I’m not president of anywhere.”

 

Clarke tried to breathe, but the whole world closed around her and she passed out.

 

* * *

 

She woke up with a furious headache, a pounding in the base of her skull that drummed her back to consciousness.

 

“Do you feel as rough as I do?” Bellamy’s voice was husky, like he’d been shouting for a long time, and when Clarke opened her eyes he was sitting facing the opposite direction to her. From where she lay she could see his hands were gripping his knees hard. Sometime while she’d been unconscious he’d removed his shirt, and from the way she was beginning to sweat she thought that sounded like the best idea anyone had ever had.

 

“Don’t – ” he interrupted, as she tugged the hem up.

 

“Why not?” she frowned. If this was some dumb thing about taking it slow she was going to punch him in the face. He’d hardly touched her in ages; nothing except quick kisses. It wasn’t for lack of trying, she was sure. They just didn’t have any time together, not when there was so much to be done.

 

Bellamy made a noise of annoyance, and Clarke remembered why they were in the room in the first place.

 

“They’ve drugged us so we’ll have sex?” she blurted out, and then looked to see if there were any cameras. Mercifully, it seemed like the room wasn’t being watched, but she didn’t feel any more comfortable.

 

“Don’t take off your clothes, Clarke,” Bellamy gritted out. “It’s difficult enough with you lying there.” She blushed, sat up quickly, and scooted to the other side of the bed, mimicking his pose by sitting facing away from him.

 

The seconds dragged. Clarke could feel a bead of sweat amble down the back of her neck, and she whimpered. She wasn’t just warm now, she was boiling, her nipples swollen and rubbing almost painfully against the shirt she had on.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Bellamy amended, as if she had any doubts.

 

“Just, not like this would’ve been better,” she finished for him, and she could practically feel him nodding grimly. She wriggled slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but there was nothing to distract her from the thudding need that was building. “Look, I have to take my shirt off, it’s too hot in here.”

 

Bellamy tried to say something that sounded like no, but Clarke was already pulling her shirt over her head and she didn’t care what his opinion on her state of undress was. She sighed with relief, pulling her knees up in front of her, and tried to think logically about the situation.

 

“Let’s try and work this out, ok?” she began, and bit her lip when he didn’t reply. “Why the hell do they need us to have sex?”

 

“Like I have any fucking clue,” Bellamy bit out, and she felt the bed move as he shifted. “Maybe they need something to do with their time.”

 

“Dalton said Ganaka’s been working on this for a long time,” Clarke frowned, and then realised she’d been rubbing her nipples against the rough weave of her trousers while she’d been speaking. She huffed out a sigh of frustration, moving so she could kneel on the bed instead, heels pressed against her ass. “Must mean it’s serious.”

 

“Clarke, just, please – please stop talking.” Bellamy’s breath was coming quickly, like he was struggling with something, and she had to look, had to see if this was as bad for him as it was for her. She peeked over her shoulder and found him turned side-on to her, hands clenched in the sheets. He met her gaze and exhaled slowly. “It’s getting really hard not to touch you,” he admitted, and Clarke bit back a moan. She wanted that more than anything, so she looked away before she moved over.

 

“Remind me why it’s such a bad idea to not just go with this, please,” he asked her.

 

“I can’t shut up and carry on talking at the same time,” she snapped, and he tipped his head back.

 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, pulling off the trousers he was wearing.

 

“Bellamy! We have no idea what could happen if we go through with this, Dalton said they’ve never tested it on two people before!” she shrieked, whipping her head away so fast it made her neck hurt. If she looked at him she wouldn’t be able to sit still anymore.

 

“It’s really difficult to care about that right now,” Bellamy reminded her, and Clarke could hear him bite back a moan.

 

“What are you doing?” she whispered, but she already knew. When she turned to look he wasn’t even bothering not to stare at her, and she wanted to curse him for being so reckless and kiss him at the same time.

 

“Just looking,” he shrugged.

 

“You are doing so much more than just looking,” Clarke muttered, staring at the way his hand was moving jerkily down his cock, squeezing at the base. “That’s not _fair,_ Bellamy,” she whined, rubbing her thighs together, and realised with horror that the crotch of her trousers was soaked through.

 

“Are you wet?” he asked, and she almost laughed. She cupped her breasts instead, rolling her nipples slowly between her fingers, her gaze fixed on the slick slide of his hand. “Clarke, if you keep doing that I’m gonna be done in three minutes,” he warned her.

 

“Shut up,” she snapped, pulling off the trousers and throwing them across the room. It didn’t cool her down at all. “You’re not making this any easier for either of us.”

 

“Just – just try touching yourself,” Bellamy encouraged. “It might help.”

 

“It might help you get off, you mean,” she said, but she was already circling a finger around her clit, shivering at the sensation.

 

“I don’t think anything’s going to help except you,” he admitted, and that made her blush across her chest. “I’ve thought of you every day, Clarke, every day for weeks now. And it’s getting fucking unbearable.” She pushed two fingers into her cunt, so wet and open she hardly felt them, and he swore, tearing his hands away from his dick and bunching them into fists. “It needs to be you,” Bellamy told her, staring straight at her. His pupils were blown wide, lips bitten red. “Do you need it to be me, too?”

 

Clarke tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. All she could manage was a nod. Bellamy laughed, short of breath, and reached out for her. She bit her lip, shut her eyes for a second, and then extended her hand so that their fingertips just brushed.

 

It was like someone had slapped her across the face with sensation – she couldn’t stop herself falling against him, reaching desperately to touch him. He kissed her hard, licking into her without preamble, sucking on her bottom lip until her legs fell wide apart for him. The head of his cock bumped against her stomach and she whimpered with disappointment when he broke away from the kiss. “You make the best noises,” he told her, kissing down the side of her neck until he bit hard on her collarbone, tonguing the sting afterwards so she writhed beneath him. “Knew you would, knew you would after I kissed you that first time.”

 

Clarke felt like she couldn’t breathe again, nails digging into his upper arms as he rubbed the length of his cock against her clit, the head of it pressing just enough to make the muscles of her cunt spasm. “Inside me, please,” she begged, but he ignored her, licking circles around her left nipple until she wanted to hold him down and ride him, and to hell with the consequences. When she tried to roll them he just pinned her down, using just the barest hint of teeth against her as a warning.  

 

“You don’t get to go on top if you’re late to the party,” he told her, and she wanted to scream.

 

“You’re just as much to blame, always falling asleep next to me,” she growled, and he laughed against her shoulder.

 

“What can I say?” One finger inside her, crooking just shy of something she needed. “It’s been busy lately.” Clarke shut him up with her mouth, trying desperately to convey with a kiss how badly she wanted him. He was unmoved, though, and pushed her thighs apart. His tongue on her clit made her whole body jerk as if she’d been shocked and he had to push the flat of his palm against her stomach to hold her down.

 

“Again, again,” she panted, then moaned as he laughed against her, flicking his tongue in a way that made her toes curl. Her body was on fire, the heat that had seemed unbearable now changing to something unnatural. “Can you feel that?” she asked, clutching at his hands, and he pulled away from her, still fucking her slowly with his fingers.

 

“I need – ” Bellamy started, but Clarke couldn’t deal with his stalling anymore, good as he was with his tongue. She caught him off guard, grabbing his hand and licking her wetness of his fingers. His breath stuttered at that, so she used the moment of victory to get him on his back. “Clarke, what are you – oh god,” he moaned, as she sank down onto the length of him.

 

The unbearable heat softened, became manageable. Clarke could tell Bellamy felt it too, from the way his face relaxed a little. “Next time I say I want you inside me, you’d better be quick about it,” she told him, as they paused for a second.

 

“Are you always going to be this insufferable when you’re right?” he asked, eyebrow raised, and canted his hips slightly so that she lost balance and fell against him. Clarke didn’t bother to reply, just gripped his shoulders tight and rode him. Her breath caught in her throat, vision blurring, and she almost didn’t care when he rolled them, pinning her down again. She did care when he slipped out, kissing him hard as he spread her legs apart further before he pushed in again.

 

“Harder, please,” she whispered into him, curling her fingers into the sheets. Her hair was sticky with sweat, the whole room was blurring in her peripheral vision, and she didn’t care about anything except getting him as deep inside her as she possibly could. He sucked on the tender skin of her breast, thrusting so hard into her that she lost her breath. “Again, again,” Clarke pleaded, nails leaving bright marks on his back, and she was reaching for something, desperate, coiling, ready.

 

The heat burst along her skin, seared through her, leaving her raw and sobbing and tender in the wake of her release. Bellamy gasped, thrusting twice more before he shuddered in her arms and gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.

 

It took them a little while longer to summon the energy to move, and then Bellamy moved away to kneel between her legs. He ran his hands along her body reverently, tracing fingertips over her skin until she shivered. The high had been intense, and she felt as if her bones were jelly.  

 

“Next time I won’t be in a rush,” he grinned, and Clarke threw a pillow at him weakly.

 

* * *

 

Someone was shaking her shoulder. Clarke opened her eyes, blinking blearily at the figure in front of her. To her surprise she saw Ganaka, holding a glass of water. “Drink,” she said, and Clarke didn’t even stop to think about it. Her throat was burning, and the water tasted better than anything she’d ever had in her life. “Put these on,” Ganaka whispered, handing her clothes, and shook Bellamy awake too. He looked as if he was about to murder her, but she started talking again before either of them could get a word in.

 

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness for what we put you through,” she began, keeping her voice low, and Bellamy made a noise of disbelief. “But you have to understand why. Your Ark was dying, but Mount Weather is dying in its own way, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked. It hurt to speak, her throat was rough like sandpaper.

 

“I’m the youngest person born in Mount Weather,” Ganaka said, turning away as they dressed. “No one can have children, and it’s not just here – all the other bunkers are having similar problems.” _Other bunkers?_ Clarke thought, her mind spinning, and she struggled into her shirt. “We’ve been sharing research for years, trying to make a break through, but there’s been no progress.”

 

“How the hell do you get from fertility research to stimulants?” Clarke bit out, and Ganaka put her finger to her lips.

 

“Please be quiet. They don’t know I’m in here,” she whispered desperately, looking at the door. “The bunker that controls the ability to have children controls the future of the human race as we know it. That’s why we need people who _can_ have children, if we can’t fix why we can’t. For the past ten years we’ve been experimenting on the people who live outside – they can clearly still reproduce - but we’ve never had two of them alive in here at the same time, and there have been no captures for at least a year.”

 

“So we were like a gift from the heavens,” Bellamy mused aloud. Ganaka nodded, and then shut her eyes as if she wished she were dreaming.

 

“They chose you,” she sighed, and sat down on the bed. “They chose you as their Adam and Eve.”

 

Clarke felt as if she was going to throw up. She was hardly old enough to have children, she thought, trying not to panic. “No, it’s ok, I gave you something for it,” Ganaka told her, smiling weakly, and Clarke suddenly remembered the sharp pain in her shoulder before the doctor had left the room.

 

“Why did you help us?” she whispered.

 

“If this is how we act, why should the human race continue?” Ganaka shrugged. “We destroyed a planet, now we want to force children to repopulate it? It’s not right.” She stared at the wall blankly, and Clarke noticed that her previously immaculate braid was coming down from her head, strands of long hair haloing her head. Her eyes fell shut for a second, and then she seemed to gather herself, standing quickly. “You must follow me now.”

 

“What about the others, the ones who stayed?” Bellamy asked, catching Ganaka’s arm as she made to leave the room.

 

“We’ve been sneaking them out since the morning of your arrival,” the doctor said over her shoulder, and then checked the corridor.

 

“All of them?” he pressed, and Ganaka’s expression closed off.

 

“There were two boys who we couldn’t save in surgery.”

 

“Who’s _we_?” Clarke hissed, as they followed her out of the room. She thought about how thin her shirt was, and how cold it would be outside, but didn’t want to tempt fate. They crept down the corridor and into the lift before Ganaka replied.

 

“Michael told me you buried your friend near the shuttle. But the body you found wasn’t Raven,” she said, and drew a bullet out of her pocket.

 

“Doctor?” Clarke’s world closed in around her, dark spots dancing in her vision. “Whose body did I bury?”

 

“We don’t have time for that,” Ganaka reminded her, as the lift doors opened.

 

* * *

 

The uniforms they stole didn’t fit well, but neither of them complained. Clarke felt sore all over, muscles fatigued, and whenever she caught Bellamy’s eye she couldn’t help blushing. While she wished their first time together hadn’t been in some lifeless white room at the mercy of some group of scientists, she was at least glad that it hadn’t been terrible. That all the casual touches, the looks, the kisses, hadn’t been for nothing.

 

They met Michael by a service stairwell that seemed out of place in the white halls of Mount Weather, and Ganaka pressed the bullet into Clarke’s hands. The questions bubbled on her tongue but she bit them back.

 

“Come with us,” Clarke whispered, impulsively. “They’ll hurt you if they find out you did this.”

 

“I have to get Raven out first,” Ganaka smiled. “She’s the one who planned this whole thing. Her wounds have healed but she’s still weak.” Clarke blinked back tears, pulling the goggles and mask over her face.

 

“Thank you,” Bellamy whispered, tugging her arm, and then they were going down, slipping out into the night. There was only Michael waiting for them, and they set off at a fast pace.

 

“Where are the others, the ones who got out?” Clarke panted, after what seemed like hours of fast-paced hiking through the forest.

 

“Already at the camp, getting everyone moving,” Michael said, helping her cross over a stream. “You can’t stay at the Ark any longer, not once they see you’re gone.”

 

“Where the hell are we supposed to go if we can’t stay at the Ark?” Bellamy asked, but Michael shook his head.

 

A sudden shock went through the ground beneath them, followed by a sound like thunder. Michael turned back the way they’d come, pushing his mask off his face. For the first time Clarke got a good look at his features – there was a long scar down his right cheek, as if he’d been caught in an acid fog, and she realised there hadn’t been one for quite some time.

 

“Edha,” Michael whispered, and shut his eyes tight for a moment. “Make it out of there, c’mon.” Then he turned back and pushed them on. Their pace quickened to a jog, and Clarke’s heart was bursting in her chest. If her instincts were right, then there’d been an explosion at Mount Weather. What the hell did that mean for them?

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t stop until the barest hint of dawn, and even then it was only because they had come to the Ark camp. It was mostly deserted, but Abby was still there. She pulled Clarke into a hug so tight it felt bruising, and then held her at arm’s length to look at her.

 

“Where are the others?” Clarke asked, before they could get emotional. She didn’t want to start crying again.

 

“They’ve already left,” Abby frowned. “Don’t you know?”

 

“Know what?” Clarke burst out. “We seem to know less than anyone else fucking does!” She was tired, fraying at the seams. She felt Bellamy twisting the fabric of her t-shirt around his fingers where it stuck out of her jacket, pulling on it enough that she’d know he was there, and the anger seemed to drain out of her. “We’ve just been trying to get home,” she finished, lamely.

 

“We’re going to the ocean, Clarke,” Abby smiled. Her eyes seemed the shine, and she put one hand on each of their shoulders. “There are ships, found by grounders, which can take us.”

 

“Grounders?” Clarke frowned. “But we just – they tried to kill us,” she reminded Abby. “Why the hell would they want to help us?”

 

“Different grounders,” said a familiar voice, and Bellamy gaped.

 

“O?” he whispered, voice cracking.

 

“Surprise, bitches!” Octavia grinned, catching Bellamy in a hug that almost sent him flying.

 

* * *

 

There was barely enough time to get everyone out of the camp before the sun rose, but they managed it, heading under the cover of trees with Lincoln leading the way. Clarke kept checking behind them to see if Ganaka had managed to catch them up yet, and Michael kept reminding her that if she made it out, she’d meet them by the ships. In the end, she had to content herself with watching Bellamy watch Octavia, who was talking ninety miles an hour about all the things she’d learnt, all the people she’d met. Her whole body seemed to move with a different sort of grace, as if she and the forest were old friends who respected each other. Even Lincoln seemed less stern, though Clarke was still afraid to talk to him.

 

“I’m sure we can fix that burn, too,” Octavia said, and Clarke’s mouth twisted. She didn’t want to think about that, or the body she had buried.

 

“It’s ok, O,” Bellamy replied evenly. “I like it now.” He looked back, catching Clarke’s eye, and smiled. She couldn’t help grinning back at him, blushing when he winked.

 

“Asshole,” she muttered.

 

“Did you say something?” Abby asked, walking next to her.

 

“No, nope, not at all,” Clarke stammered, and pulled a fake smile. “Nothing.” She turned her attention back to Octavia. “How come these grounders are willing to help us?”

 

“They’ve been watching Mount Weather for some time now,” Octavia told her, taking her arm as she stumbled a little over a rock. Clarke realised her body was shutting down, almost too tired to take her further, and she struggled to pay attention. “They’ve been salvaging ship parts for years, even found a couple of larger ones that were mostly intact.”

 

“What about food and water?” Bellamy pressed, and Octavia rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah, because they completely forgot about that. These people have been planning to leave for years, Bell, they’re prepared.”

 

Bellamy pulled a face at the nickname, but didn’t comment further. He walked close to Clarke, and she was glad of it – if she fell, at least he’d be close. She was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing: the grounders might be prepared, but were they prepared for the number of people joining them?

 

* * *

 

 

They caught up with half of the Ark survivors by evening, when they stopped to make camp, and Michael told them the others had been warned by the first kids he’d smuggled out of Mount Weather.

 

“They came to us just after you left,” Abby explained, handing out strips of dried meat and chewy root vegetables. Clarke hadn’t realised how hungry she was until food was in front of her, and she ate almost without tasting. “Kane and I, and all the families, voted on what to do. Some wanted to stay, but when they saw everyone leaving, well … everybody seems to want to stick together now.” She smiled, looking around at the families gathered. They couldn’t risk a fire, huddling around small lanterns and torches instead.

 

Clarke felt bone-weary, and watched Michael carving branches into sharp points for some of those without weapons to use. The light caught the scar on his cheek again, and she found that despite her fatigue she still had questions.

 

“Why are you helping us?” she asked, shifting closer to him. Michael looked up at her, the smallest of smiles teasing at the corners of his mouth, and rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles before he spoke.

 

“When I was born, Mount Weather still had a President. President of the United States, actually.” He stared at his hands, as if the memory was clear as day in front of him. “By the time I was ten, I noticed there weren’t any other kids more than a few younger than me. The adults got worried. No one had time for speeches anymore, no one had time for the politicians that got us into this mess in the first place. But it’s not politicians that get us into these messes, it’s people. Mobs are dangerous things, and mobs changed Mount Weather.” His smile was completely gone now. “Mount Weather operates as a laboratory, and that laboratory’s sole purpose is to continue the existence of the human race, as they believe it should be, at any cost.”

 

Clarke shivered. She knew more than she wanted to about mobs. Michael cleared his throat, and when he looked at her Clarke felt like he was trying to convey something she didn’t understand yet.

 

“I fell in love when I was about your age,” he told her. “I wanted children, but that was impossible. Things changed, and then, well - then it was different.” He tossed a spearhead lightly between his hands, setting it down next to the others and moving on to the next. “She’s spent her life trying to figure out how I can have kids, even though I can’t have them with her.”

 

She realised suddenly that he was talking about Edha. “Are you helping us because you still love her?” she asked softly, and he smiled genuinely this time.

 

“I’ll always love that woman, but no. I’m helping you, Clarke Griffin, because you have a choice. And a choice is an important thing. So if I can do anything to protect that, then I’ll do it.” He passed her a freshly sharpened spearhead, and clasped his hands around hers. “Whatever you choose will be the right choice for you, and no one should be able to force it.”

 

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured, feeling as if she had been told a lot of things in too short a space of time. She ran her thumb along the sharpened edge of the wooden spear head, and hoped she never had to use it. She’d killed a lot of people, and she didn’t particularly feel like she deserved a choice anymore.

 

Just as she was heading off to bed, she bumped into Jasper and his family. His mother was the same lean build as him, but she couldn’t spot his father anywhere. “Dad’s asleep,” he told her; “earth makes him real tired.”

 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clarke murmured, suddenly remembering something she’d been meaning to do all day. “These are for you.” She pulled the goggles from around her neck and handed them to Jasper. “You don’t look yourself without them.”

 

Jasper’s mouth went very tight, and she realised he was trying not to cry. He hugged her very tightly, goggles clutched in one hand, and then stepped back. “I’m glad you got back,” he said, solemnly. 

 

"Me too. Next time I'll pay more attention to your hunches," she promised, and he smiled ruefully as he made his way back to his family. Clarke watched him for a little while, and then went to find Bellamy. He was warm and sleepy in the tent he'd found for them, and she fitted her body against him, feeling as if she could sleep for years.

 

“Everything alright?” he asked, words hardly audible.

 

“Gave Jasper his goggles,” she told him, pressing her lips gently to his neck.

 

“Good. He didn’t look himself without them,” Bellamy murmured, already slipping into a dream, and Clarke smiled.

 

* * *

 

Screams woke her. They were her own, but they were stifled by something over her mouth. The last shreds of her nightmare fell from her eyes, and she realised it was Bellamy’s hand keeping her from waking the others. He was wrapped around her again, as if to be her human shield.

 

“Shh,” he whispered, “you’re ok. You’re fine.”

 

Clarke gasped for air, her whole body shuddering as she remembered the nightmare. “The body,” she whispered, turning in his arms so she could press her face against his chest. She ran her fingers over the burn mark, hating herself again. “The body in the shuttle was his.”

 

Had she always known, once Ganaka had told her that Raven was alive? Had she seen that the hair was too short, the jacket burnt beyond recognition but still _not hers_?

 

“It was Finn,” she sobbed, trying not to make too much noise, and he held her closer. “I buried him and I didn’t even know it was him.”

 

She wept herself back to sleep, wondering if Finn had hated her as he dragged his burnt body back into the shuttle to die on the cold metal, away from the smell of charred flesh.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning they covered the distance to the coast. Clarke couldn’t believe her eyes, staring out at the ocean. It was vast, all-consuming, and beautiful, like a mirror world of space. Bellamy gripped her hand tightly, then walked with her to the sand. They stood in the surf, breathing in the salt air.

 

“I never thought I’d see anything like this,” she admitted, as they watched a bird circle high overhead. “I never thought we’d make it.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, princess,” Bellamy teased, tugging her back to the others. “Of course we were going to make it.”

 

Clarke almost didn’t hear him, because there was a familiar red jacket in the crowd, pointing to ships in the distance and then to machines stacked neatly by the tree-line. “Raven!” she shouted, and there was that wicked smile again.

 

“Late to the party, huh?” she laughed, and hugged them both. “You two a little too busy having an emotional breakthrough to get with the programme?” Bellamy gave her a long-suffering look, and she nudged him in the ribs. “Nah, it’s cool, I got it this time.”

 

“How did you get all this here?” Clarke asked, and then felt stupid, because out of all the questions she could have picked, that was the least important.

 

“Edha and I have been planning this from the moment I woke up from her operation,” Raven explained, and pointed to the stack of machinery. “Those are motors Michael and his team helped me knock up from scrap from the Ark and some stolen bits from Mount Weather. Together with the ships the grounders pieced together, we should be able to make good time across the ocean.”

 

“Where are we headed?” Bellamy asked, scanning the map laid out on the sand. It looked a little different to the ones Clarke had seen on the Ark,

 

“The Bahamas.” Edha had appeared to stand next to Raven, and Clarke noticed that they were holding hands. “There’s a bunker on the coast of one of the islands that still hosts a working system of democracy, and radio communication” she added, with a wry smile. Raven bounced on the heels of her boots, worrying her bottom lip with excitement.

 

“First humans to take to the sea in decades,” she wondered, like she’d never heard a better idea. “We need to start getting everyone on the ships now.” She gestured to the gathering crowd, who were making their way down the beach to a cluster of shapes in the distance, some of them carrying the engines from the stacks.

 

As they moved to follow, Clarke pulled Raven aside.

 

“I buried Finn,” she told her, and Raven looked away. When she turned back, her face was calm.

 

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I don’t think I could have done that. You saved my life, y’know, both of you, with that blood coagulant. I – I miss him too. But you gotta let go.” She kissed Clarke’s forehead, and moved away to follow Edha and the others.

 

Clarke hung back for a moment, walking slowly and watching as the stream of people made their way up onto the ships. She thought about all the people she had known who lay under the ground or far away in space, all the lives she had ended. She thought about Finn and her sad first love, and Raven and Edha’s linked hands, and Abby helping Kane fix motors onto groundling ships. She thought about the groundlings watching the Ark survivors with wide eyes, and Lincoln and Octavia standing close, helping families onto the ships. She thought about Michael and Edha, and the look in his eye when he’d said choice was worth protecting, even though he knew she didn’t choose him.

 

She thought about Bellamy.

 

“Don’t miss the tide,” Michael said, touching her elbow. Clarke stepped out of her reverie, clambering onto the boat. Bellamy grabbed her hand, pulling her up, and the helped Michael on as the engines started up. “With luck, systems at Mount Weather should only just be up again now,” Michael told her, as the shore crept away from them. Clarke had a moment of panic as the ship seemed to roll, but then they were out on the open water, heading out, and she felt like her heart was soaring. She laughed, salt water spraying into her face, and her hand found Bellamy’s without even trying.

 

There was nothing that needed to be said, so they stood in the spray for a while, until the land was behind and there was only blue before them. Clarke left it all in the earth - the bodies and the nightmares and the shuddering fear - and took only what she chose to.

 

Bellamy looked at her, as if he could hear her thoughts again. “Got everything you need?” he asked her, curling a strand of her hair around his finger and then tucking it behind her ear. She thought of the boy who advocated chaos, and the man who wouldn’t leave anyone behind.  

 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

 

“You did good here, Clarke,” he reminded her.

 

“If you two are done over there, we’ve got a landing plan to draw up.” Raven’s voice cut through their reverie, and Clarke knew her grin matched Bellamy’s. Octavia and Lincoln held down two corners of the map, Abby and Kane the others, and Edha handed Clarke a pencil.

 

Clarke looked at the map they had tacked to the ship’s deck, and pushed up her sleeves.

 

“Let’s get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> dreamcast notes: i'm aware you will probably have your own mental pictures of edha, michael, dalton and cunningham. here were mine, respectively -- aishwarya rai, idris elba, michelle pfeiffer, anthony hopkins. yes, i did intend there to be an age gap between raven and edha. i'd be interested to hear if people have different dreamcasts, though!
> 
> plot notes: what were the squares of skin taken for? why were clarke and bellamy the ones chosen? what are the other bunkers like, who runs them, where are they? pretend this is like the end of a season and that the answers will be revealed next year (or never, in the case of doctor who).
> 
> if you want to discuss any of the above, or nothing to do with it at all, i am [here](http://nexilis.tumblr.com).


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